


When Nothing Makes a Sound

by OmoYasha



Series: Omovember 2020 [14]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Autistic Frisk (Undertale), Autistic Papyrus (Undertale), Bed-Wetting, Gen, Nightmares, Omorashi, because Papyrus is always autistic in my fics, emotional distress, mild self-injurious behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:33:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27707680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmoYasha/pseuds/OmoYasha
Summary: Omovember Day 24: BedwettingPapyrus wanted his brother.  He was frightened and overwhelmed and he needed *Sans*, needed to know that Sans was *okay*.But Sans was not here.Or: Papyrus and Frisk have a sleepover! It does not go quite as planned.Set in the same universe as "Out of Sync"
Relationships: Frisk & Papyrus (Undertale), Papyrus & Sans (Undertale)
Series: Omovember 2020 [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1998742
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	When Nothing Makes a Sound

**Author's Note:**

> This story is in the same timeline as "Out of Sync" - you do not need to read that one first, but if you have, this one takes place a couple weeks after it. Like "Out of Sync", I did most of the writing for this fic quite some time ago, as part of a larger story I decided to scrap. I've cleaned this story up and finished it for Omovember - enjoy!

Papyrus had just about convinced himself that… _the incident,_ as he called it in his mind, was a fluke; one which would not be repeated now that he was back to his normal schedule. It _had_ had the frustrating effect, however, that his normally lazy brother was suddenly cooking breakfast for them with surprising regularity… today, he had even made Papyrus a cup of cocoa!

His bodily needs, to the skeleton’s frustration, were beginning to adjust themselves accordingly.

Sans was gone tonight, at his favorite job up at the observatory, and Toriel was staying over with Frisk.

Papyrus already had a slight need to relieve himself, but he’d gone just the night before. He could go in the morning, he reasoned. All he had to do was wait until Toriel walked Frisk to school, and then go while Sans napped after he got home from work. It was no problem.

For the moment, the tall skeleton was happy enough; running around the house playing hide and seek with his human, even eating a few bites of the pie Toriel brought for them. As bedtime inched closer, though, his need became more and more pronounced.

Though he thought he’d been keeping it well hidden, he could not deny that it was noticeable when the human paused the MTT game show rerun they were enjoying to squint up at him and sign.

“Are you okay?”

“OF COURSE! I AM FINE, HUMAN. I… I WANT TO FINISH WATCHING METTATON.”

Toriel clattered around in the kitchen – having summarily expelled Papyrus partway through dinner preparations, despite his protests of her status as a guest – and the sound of running water made him squirm. To his relief, the human did not question his assertion; they tucked themself against his side, with one last searching glance.

The rest of the night went smoothly – they cleaned up the kitchen with Toriel, and held an impromptu dance party on the sofa. At the mutually agreed upon bedtime, Toriel laid down on the couch, which was not nearly so stiff _or_ lumpy as their old green one had been. Frisk and Papyrus went to Papyrus’s room to get ready for bed. (Nobody took Sans’s room, because that bed was a biohazard, and Sans should be ashamed of his den of sloth. He was reasonably certain that even _Sans_ rarely slept in Sans’s room.)

Papyrus, for once, was sleeping in something other than his battle body. The human had brought them matching pajamas, and insisted they were cozier for cuddling than a stiff chest plate.

To be honest, they _were_ very cool pajamas – Frisk’s were light blue with pink flames on them, and Papyrus’s had racecars on the chest. Both pairs were exceptionally soft, which was the reason Frisk had picked them out. In honor of the special occasion, the skeleton changed into the fuzzy flannel, and they took pictures together to post on social media.

It was a wonderful evening, and Papyrus felt very responsible as _he_ read a bedtime story to Frisk, and Toriel came to tuck them in and dim the lights. The little human snuggled against him, head only coming up to his collarbone, and feet slightly below his knees.

Despite the coziness of the position, the skeleton squirmed. Even aside from the physical discomfort, he felt… nervous.

The human peeked up at him in the dim light emanating from the hallway, and signed,

“It’s okay, I miss Sans when he’s gone too.”

Papyrus wanted to protest – it was not as if this was the first time Sans had been away from home for a night or two, not by any means, and Papyrus was hardly a babybones – but he couldn’t really find a rebuttal. So instead, he hugged them tightly.

Soon, the human was breathing in sleepy snorts, and even Papyrus – having not slept in almost two days – drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Papyrus stood in the center of the path, boots solid on the frozen ground.

The human shuffled forward, never looking up; chalky powder covering their arms.

Papyrus knew what it was. _Everyone_ knew what it was. They were tiny in their large, dirty sweater – but horribly, indescribably, _wrong_. Papyrus should be afraid, maybe – all the other monsters were – and yet, he knew the human was not gone. He knew they only needed love. They needed MERCY.

Papyrus stepped forward, arms outstretched for an embrace. The human stepped forward. Their knife gleamed.

They did not strike him; they walked away.

Toward Waterfall.

…toward Sans.

Suddenly, Papyrus was terrified.

He ran through the snow, the flurry of white obscuring his vision… and then he could see his brother bathed in golden light, facing the human across a sea of bones.

He could hear the rumble of his brother’s voice, but the words were distant; impossible to understand, as if underwater.

Sans’s single eye-light blazed like fire as he threw the human around, but nothing seemed to connect. He ducked and dodged, but it wasn’t enough. _It would never be enough_. 

Papyrus reached for them, but he was drowning, his magic pounding through his body; held down by so, so many hands. A harsh and grating voice whispered coldly behind him, around him. Inside his skull. He wanted to help his brother, to beg the human to turn around, but he could not make a sound.

On the battlefield, everything froze.

Sans was about to drop, bones gone ashen and dull, slick with sweat. 

He closed his eyes.

Papyrus couldn’t even scream, mouth filled with the taste of dust. He reached out his hand, helpless to stop it. Needles and saws and nameless things pricked at his bones, his soul.

The human struck.

Dripping strange, bright fluid – too vivid, too colorful – Sans stumbled away. Papyrus could hear nothing over the rush of the water, the pounding beat of his soul.

In that final moment, Sans looked up. He looked at his brother, _saw him_ , made eye contact with that same gentle, _real_ smile Papyrus saw so often as a child – the one that had become rarer and rarer as the years went by.

“do you want anything… papyrus?”

Papyrus was sobbing his brother’s name, stretching desperately to make contact, and…

…

d u s t .

…

….he was a child again, tiny and fragile. All around him was darkness, cold. Something slick dribbled down his femur, and he shuddered.

The world smelled like ozone and metal, magic without love. He shook just to hear his own bones rattle, tried to kick his feet against the floor. But his bare bones touched nothing, and nothing made a sound.

He would be patient. He would wait for his brother.

His brother was coming: his brother always came.

Papyrus waited…

…but nobody came.

* * *

The first things Papyrus became aware of, on waking, were the painful ache of too much magic in his bones, and a gentle patting on his cheek. His heart raced, eyes opening wide to a darkness not quite so complete as that of his dream. He was staring straight into the stoic face of the human.

With a panicked whimper, he thrashed to get away from them, elbow thunking against their chest and tipping them over the side of the bed. _His_ bed. They made a little “mmph!” noise as they hit the ground – the human in his dreams never made any sound whatsoever.

Papyrus rocked, making small, choked noises. When the human climbed back into his lap, he let them hug him.

This was Frisk. _His_ Frisk, who loved hugs, and puzzles, and missed Sans. Not the stranger who wore Frisk’s face, who greeted his embrace with a dust covered knife.

He counted the things he could see, feel. The weight of the human on his thighbones. The painted wood pressing uncomfortably against his spine. The warm dampness of the pajamas clinging to his hips.

He froze.

His pajamas were stained from the knees to the top of the pelvis; he could feel that awful, telltale moisture on the sheets below him. His body had betrayed him, and Papyrus felt a budding panic as he realized that he was not even close to done.

His soul, too, had realized that the dream was over; no longer holding onto the excess magic he had summoned in a panic, but forcing it through his body once more.

The skeleton felt the moment it became too much. He was groggy and scared and disoriented and he could feel the burn of magic forcing itself out of him. The human was on his _lap_. Did they even know that he’d – _they were on his lap_ , and he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even _say something_.

He made a breathy, anxious sound, squirming in their tight hug, and then his magic was spilling out anew, all over his lap and bed, soiling both of them. He began rattling, making little noises of panic. Frisk startled slightly as the seat of their own pajamas grew wet, but then they just hugged him tighter, nuzzling their cheek against his jaw.

He sniffled.

“H-HUMAN…” he managed, tears welling up in his eye sockets.

Frisk seemed to see that he was on the edge of some kind of emotional cliff he didn’t want to fall from, and they scrambled off of him to turn on the lamp, taking his fingers in their hand.

“It’s okay.” They signed. “Okay Papyrus, okay.”

He allowed them to tug him out of bed, and quickly followed them as they tiptoed down the hall.

Papyrus wanted his brother. He was frightened and overwhelmed and he needed _Sans_ , needed to know that Sans was _okay_.

But Sans was not here.

Papyrus couldn’t even think straight, and the human was still here, and though his heart still raced looking at their face in the wake of his nightmare, they were his friend. He found them comforting.

They pointed at the bedroom questioningly, but he shook his head, not relinquishing his hold on their tiny hand, and they crept down the hall together.

As it happened, Toriel had found herself unable to sleep that night. She’d decided to sit up and knit, perhaps read a bit in her new book of snail recipes. When a few hours after the others went to bed, she heard noises, she only smiled fondly.

She remembered when Chara and Asriel were alive, how often they would hear footsteps and voices late at night, as the children woke and played a while, before falling asleep once more. She and Asgore had always found it far too endearing to put a stop to. It was… nice, to hear the noise of her child in the night once more.

Papyrus was quite a bit older than her Asriel, of course – young, but firmly past the stripes of childhood. But he and Frisk seemed well matched in personality, and it warmed her heart to see such a gentle, enthusiastic monster befriend her child.

She focused on her knitting, not worrying about the noises or footsteps until a very soft, breathy voice – barely more than a whisper, said,

“Mom.”

She turned to the staircase, surprised to hear one of Frisk’s rare, precious mouth words. Her child was peeking around the railing, bouncing on their feet as they were prone to when feeling emotion.

“What is it, my child?” she asked, setting her work aside and standing.

Frisk stepped around the corner, tugging at their pajama bottoms. She was surprised to see how they sagged and clung in a manner unmistakable to any parent.

“Frisk? Did you –“ she breathed in, frowning as she smelled not the sharp bite of human urine, but the scent of wasted magic, and an unfamiliar muskiness which she could not immediately place, but which was unmistakably _monster_.

“Bad dream. You help?” her child signed, expressionless as always, eyes darting behind them.

She followed their gaze, and saw the lanky skeleton holding their hand, halfway hidden behind the banister, clothing drenched and clinging to his rattling bones. He was chewing on the carpal and metacarpal bones of his free hand, cheekbones flushed orange and tears beginning to spill from his sockets. In a word, he looked awful.

“Oh.” she murmured. Frisk must not have meant their _own_ bad dream

“Oh dear, that must have been a very bad dream indeed.”

She approached slowly, unsure how easily startled Papyrus was when he was upset. The monster was so unrelentingly _cheerful_ that it was difficult to imagine how he would ACT. Some monsters could begin throwing bullets rather easily, and that never made anything better. Not when an accident like this meant that nightmare must have had his magic level up quite a bit already. He didn’t look up as she approached, eyes firmly directed at the floorboards, with occasional looks to Frisk.

Carefully, the queen laid a gentle hand on his elbow. Papyrus jumped a bit, and for a moment she worried that she might have drawn his soul out without meaning to. She breathed a slow sigh of relief as she saw that no glow suffused his chest. Slowly, she took his hand in her paw, drawing it away from his teeth.

“None of that, Papyrus… it’s safe here. You’re safe.”

His bones shuddered in an especially strong rattle, and he made a raspy, clicking sound like the scrape of bone on bone.

It was a uniquely skeleton noise of distress, and Toriel found she knew immediately what it meant, though she couldn’t have said _how_.

She clucked at the state of his hands. She wasn’t certain she’d ever seen his bare hands before, but she couldn’t help but be a bit concerned to see the new scrapes and dents layered over the ridges of old scars. Fortunately, nothing seemed too serious… nothing that wouldn’t heal with a day or two and a good meal. She couldn’t help but wonder if he liked to wear gloves to hide the scars, or to keep his hands insulated from his incisors.

“I can’t let you hurt yourself, Papyrus.” She squeezed the hand lightly. “Can you tell me what you need?”

The skeleton shook his head, making another clicking rasp. He shifted, plucking unhappily at his filthy clothing, hunched a bit over on himself as though hoping she somehow hadn’t seen the stain.

Then, to her surprise, the monster pulled his hand from Frisk’s, and signed something at her. Only, confusingly, it was a sign she’d never seen. She glanced at her child to check their reaction.

They blinked.

“Brother?” they asked.

Papyrus repeated the sign more insistently. Oh. Of course. Frisk had made up all of their name signs as they went through the Underground – it made sense that Papyrus would use a different one for his brother than the child did. And now that she knew what she was looking at, she _could_ pick out something that looked like an “s” in the handshape.

“Alright. Sans isn’t here now. How about…” She stopped to think, assessing the younger monster standing with Frisk. Papyrus was normally a very capable monster. But this was not a normal moment. Papyrus was typically… exceptionally verbose, as well. And right now, he clearly wasn’t. 

Both he and Frisk clearly needed to clean up. That was something she could start with.

“Frisk, dear, would you please go run a nice warm bath? I think both of you would benefit from a calming bath.”

Frisk nodded firmly, and ran to the bathroom, a child on a mission.

Toriel turned to the skeleton holding her paw. He still looked frightened, unsettled, but was also starting to sport the beginnings of the mutinous scowl she occasionally saw on his face when he and Sans were squabbling.

This situation felt somehow familiar. Like reading a story you once knew well, but had forgotten long ago.

He looked at her, frowning, fidgeting uncomfortably.

She smiled at him gently – trying to convey through her posture, the lines of her expression, the hand she rested on his – that everything was fine. That this was a situation he trust her to handle.

It took a lot of convincing to get Papyrus in the bath.

Eventually though, an unsubtle implication that Frisk might prefer his help and company overcame whatever unvoiced objection had prompted his reluctance, and the both of them disappeared safely into a bathroom smelling of steam and bubblebath.

Toriel breathed a sigh of relief.

Cleaning supplies were fortunately in ready supply – something that Papyrus, fastidious as he was, could always be depended on to keep well stocked.

She shook her head in sympathy as she wiped up the drips and puddles that trailed up the stairs, and down the hall to Papyrus’s room. Bracing herself for… something, she turned on the light…

…it was a mess.

Blankets were strewn all across the bed and floor; a pillow had somehow been thrown clear to the opposite side of the room.

The bed was soaked, dampness leached onto parts of several blankets and even the corner of one pillow (the one not thrown across the room). A large wet patch on the rug marked where the two must have gotten out of bed.

She felt a pang of empathy. Poor Papyrus – it must have been some awful nightmare, for him to be so… physical. The skeleton would probably be embarrassed about it later, but there was absolutely no way that she would leave him to tackle the cleaning alone tonight – not as emotionally wrecked as he looked.

She set to stripping the bed, relieved (if curious) to find it already equipped with a rubber sheet. Neither brother had mentioned Papyrus having problems of this nature. She found herself wondering whether this was the first time something similar had happened – and if not, why Sans hadn’t mentioned it when they were setting up the sleepover.

Thinking about it, she did recall mention of Papyrus being sick a week or so ago – perhaps this was simply an unfortunate leftover symptom?

She picked out a spare set of pajamas each for him and for her child, sneaking them onto the bathroom counter. She went to finish cleaning… only to discover that she had _no idea whatsoever_ where the brothers kept spare bedding. After checking several different closets, and every likely place she could think of, she finally admitted defeat and pulled out her phone. She did need to call Sans anyway, she supposed.

“…”

“…Sans?”

“hey tori. is everything ok?”

“Ah, well… I know that you are at work at the moment, but if you recall, Frisk and I are sleeping over tonight, and I’m afraid I need some tactical advice. I also need to know where you keep clean bedsheets.”

“…bottom shelf of the kitchen cabinet. tori, what happened?”

She sighed, wishing she was not about to drop a family issue on her friend in the middle of a shift at his favorite job.

“Apparently Papyrus had a rather awful dream tonight, and it led to a… quite a big accident.”

“an accident?”  The worry in Sans’s voice was palpable.

There was a moment’s silence.

“oh.”

She could practically hear the click as he put together what kind of accident would lead to a request for clean bedlinens.

“you’re saying my bro had a _wee_ bit of a problem there, huh?”

Despite the situation, she couldn’t help but chuckle at the bad joke.

“I’m afraid the sheets were casual- _pees_ of war.”

“heh. papyrus… how’s he handling it?”

Toriel clicked her tongue, pinning the phone against her shoulder as she wandered into the kitchen and dug out a new set of sheets.

“Oddly.” she admitted. “He didn’t seem interested in bathing until I asked him to help Frisk. And he hasn’t said a word.”

“oh. …yeah, that could be better.”

Something about his tone nagged at her.

“Sans, is this a regular thing for Papyrus?” 

Her friend cleared his throat.

“eh… not exactly? not anymore. when he was little, um. yeah, it was pretty much every night you could get him to sleep in the first place. ‘specially if he wasn’t, you know, empty right before bed? …i’ve been trying to get my bro to eat more lately, so… actually, this one might be on me, sorry.”

After a second, he added, “he probably won’t tell you what the nightmare was about.”

Looking back on it, Toriel did remember Papyrus sipping some cocoa with them, nibbling some pie… and he was a monster, unlike Frisk, who had not gone to the bathroom when the human had. She hadn’t thought anything of it – assuming he simply didn’t need to go – but the state of the carpet argued otherwise.

For all his energy when awake, it seemed the skeleton slept unfortunately deeply.

“look, if paps had a nightmare, i’m gonna see if i can get off early. can you see if he wants to talk?”

Toriel agreed easily, turning back toward the bathroom.

“Papyrus?” she called, knocking. A few seconds later the door creaked open, a dripping wet, slightly soapy skeleton on the other side (still wearing his pajamas??).

“I have your brother on the phone. Did you still want to talk to him?”

Papyrus nodded eagerly, and held the phone carefully between his fingers.

“SANS?”

Papyrus was still loud – to be honest, Toriel wasn’t certain he _could_ speak quietly, just as she wasn’t certain if it was possible for Sans to shout. But his voice seemed… smaller, somehow. Less sure.

Sans said something on the other end of the line. As Toriel expected, Papyrus perked up. What she _hadn’t_ expected was the sudden rush of tears – or the tidal wave of harsh noises and mismatched syllables suddenly pouring from him.

She was not, she found, more than slightly startled when the blazing orange light burst to life in his dark eye sockets.

As in everything, Papyrus was loud, and expressive – even if she couldn’t understand a word he was saying.

Little snippets of Sans’s gravelly voice filled the space between Papyrus’s sounds, soft and impossible to understand. Finally, Papyrus quieted down with a sniffle, and wordlessly handed the phone back to Toriel, shutting the bathroom door with a click.

She could hear splashing; a quiet giggle from Frisk.

At her ear, the phone said,

“i’m gonna come over as soon as i talk to my boss, kay? papyrus sounds, uh, pretty upset there. told him i’ll be home soon.”

He hung up.

With a final look at the bathroom door, Toriel sighed. She would finish cleaning up, and then she would go back to her knitting, and wait for Sans – and help solve any problems that arose before he arrived. There were many odd things about the skeleton brothers – many things they didn’t say to her, many mysteries she did not expect to ever solve. But anyone could see that they were happiest together.

And, true to her expectations, Sans offered no explanation of the situation when he slipped through the door less than twenty minutes later, nor even spare more than a word or two of greeting. He went straight to the bathroom door, not even asking where his brother was.

It was rude, even for Sans. But, seeing how tightly Papyrus embraced him the second he laid eyes on his brother – hug tight enough to lift him completely off his feet… and the way Sans’s smile – usually so stiff and rigid – softened as he spoke to Papyrus, gentleness transforming it into a different expression altogether. Seeing them together, she couldn’t bring herself to be offended.

She and Frisk would stay the night here, as planned. But she wasn’t needed. Whatever secrets those two had, they would be fine now that they were together. Just as they always had been.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments of all kinds are always welcome!  
> If you have any requests, or want to see more of my headcanons or fanart, I have a tumblr under the same name at omoyasha.tumblr.com !
> 
> Also, I've done my best to tag appropriately, but please let me know if there's anything important that I missed, so that I can add it.


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